


Fallout

by EverythinggStayss



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Aftermath, Avengers: Infinity War, Captain America: Civil War, Civil War, Gen, Lagos - Freeform, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Siberia, Team Cap - Freeform, Team Captain America, Team Everybody, Team Everyone Friendly, Team Iron Man, Team Tony, be proud of me I've finally moved on from civil war, damage, get ready for infinity war, infinity war will wreck me, outside perspective, poetic-ish, war is messy kids, we can just blame thanos, we can't just blame thanos, what has been happening between civil war and now, wow I can't tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 16:43:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14085201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EverythinggStayss/pseuds/EverythinggStayss
Summary: It was inevitable.A bomb and a lit match are a recipe for disaster, no matter how hard you wish it's not. With one slip, it blows, and takes everything with it.It's been a year since the infamous "Civil War"





	Fallout

**Author's Note:**

> Something that helped me get over Civil War. Except I'll never be over it. *cries*
> 
> I'm always interested in the other sides of the story so here's a little fic about the worlds current state, along with all our friends. 
> 
> Kudos and Comments are nice!

It was inevitable.

A bomb and a lit match are a recipe for disaster, no matter how hard you wish it's not.

With one slip, it blows, and takes everything with it.

If they'd only stopped to think this through, then at least maybe they could have minimized the damage.

Maybe Bruce was right. They weren't a team, they were a time bomb.

There's an odd sort of silence that echoes in the compound. It's not quiet; scientists and agents and people in suits stride about, walking fast and talking faster. But something in the air is just slightly off.

It's the strange feeling that happens after a storm blows over. A lull in time, where life begins again, despite the rather obvious devastation.

It's been a year since the infamous "Civil War".

For the rest of the world, the civil war, as the press had dubbed it, was a scandalous little news story the sent ripples through waters. Reporters had scrambled, spreading what few details the public had been granted like wildfire. The people had watched, fixed to their screens as buildings fell and fire burned and Avenger faced Avenger.

Scrolling headlines flickered in the eyes of children clutching their _Heroes of New York_ action figures.

As people tend to do, they picked sides, a fair share of arguments breaking out. Everyone liked to think they knew everything, that they were right and everyone else was wrong.

And a week passed, and the public moved on.

Captain America is a fugitive. He and his super pals, too. They're safe, under the watchful eye of the Black Panther. Deep in secrets of Wakanda, where no one will find them.

The Wakandan people have suspicions. There are whispers, that their king is hiding something. But the country is in mourning for the loss of King T'Chaka, so they push it from their minds.

The people of Lagos walk around the cleanup sites, where slow work is being made of clearing the debris. Flowers and portraits line the road, shrines to the dead, taped paper messages fluttering in the wind.

A young teen walks the streets of Queens, headphones in and backpack on. You would pass him, like everybody else does, not seeing how his eyes dart across the pedestrians faces, how his wrist is arched, tense and ready. He's not looking for a fight, but he is expecting one anyway.

A man holds a photograph of a little girl in his hands. He misses his daughter, so much that it aches. He wonders if she would be disappointed in him.

Another man watches the others carefully. He doesn't have his wings back, and he finds himself missing the air on his face. He knows he made his choice and he does not regret it, but he wonders if it had to be this way.

The soft whirring of prosthetics accompanies each and every slow, heavy step. The man remembers the way things used to be, before this was his life.

The android's eyes dilate like camera lenses as he focuses on his reflection in the window. He drifts through walls endlessly, his mind consumed with thoughts about her.

A young woman is angry. Tears that glow with red light run down her cheeks. A small burst of red light leaps from her fingertips and the mug she went to pick up shatters. She gathers the pieces by hand, and adds it to the list of things that have broken because of her.

Restlessly, a man taps his feet and twitches his fingers. He thinks of his friend and wonders if she's okay, even though he knows she can take care of herself. He wants to kiss his wife and hold his kids. He wants to see how much his baby boy has grown.

Disguises are her specialty. The woman cuts off her hair so it falls against her cheek. She bleaches it platinum blonde. She's had enough of red. She is on her own, because she burned her bridges and blew her covers. Playing both sides is her specialty too, and she can't seem to shake it.

The new king is quiet, contemplating his duty to his country and the world. He had acted selfishly, full of hate. The world is full of hate. He decides to do his best to change that.

Pulling the hair off his face, he breathes. The man's mind is still heavy with the knowledge of his past, but for the first time, he feels in control of himself. For the first time, he feels free.

With his emotions buried inside, a man feels heavier, even heavier than the weight of a shield and the mantle of soldier. He promises to be there when he's needed, but he isn't sure the world needs him anymore. He's not their hero.

There's a collection of empty bottles so large it can only be overshadowed by the army of metal suits the man had created. He can't stop, not the paranoia or the guilt or the nightmares.

The gust of wind makes snow drift across the concrete, dancing around the pillars of stone.There's blood speckled on the walls and scraps of metal on the floor. What was once an abandoned war bunker, is a twice abandoned war zone.

It's over, and nobody won.

It's over, and everyone lost.

But at least it's over.

" _Until such time that the world ends, we will act like it spins on"_


End file.
